Resort to Murder by Carolyn Hart

platform—“we saw some kind of white glow.”
    Aaron jammed a hand through his tangled curls. “Yeah, kind of white, kind of silver. Maybe two feet by five feet. Bobbing around by the platform.”
    â€œNot on the platform.” Neal was precise. “Off to the side. And then, all of a sudden, nothing.”
    Mrs. Worrell stared up at the tower, one hand pressed against her lips. “A bird,” she began.
    â€œNo way,” Aaron said flatly. “Not unless it was as big as a moose.”
    â€œWe all saw it.” Jennings shrugged. “Not a bird, Mrs. Worrell. As for what it was, I don’t think we’ll ever know. Not in this lifetime. And I don’t think we’ll accomplish a damn thing by standing here talking about it.”
    Mrs. Worrell’s voice was thin and tired. “I regret very much that some prankster…”
    Neal stared up at the tower, his face creased in a frown. “You can call it whatever you want to, a joke, some crazy deal. But how? We all saw it and it wasn’t even in the tower, it was out there in the air.”
    â€œWe’ll find out.” I spoke with more confidence thanI felt, but I was damned if I was going to succumb to hysteria. Even though there didn’t appear to be a rational explanation, I had to believe that somehow, some way, the apparition had been rigged. “I’m going up there.”
    Mrs. Worrell shivered. “Mrs. Collins, perhaps it would be better if you stayed here. I’ll get the keys, lock the tower. Then there can’t be any more of…” She trailed off.
    Any more of what? Mrs. Worrell didn’t know. None of us knew.
    â€œThere’s nothing up there, Grandma.” Neal shook his head, folded his arms across his chest.
    â€œI know. But the exercise will do me good.” I moved through the tower door.
    â€œMrs. Collins…” Mrs. Worrell’s voice was sharp. I kept on going.
    Diana and Neal climbed right behind me. When we stepped out on the platform, I drew in deep breaths, trembling a little from the effort. We looked over the railing at the dark masses of shrubbery far below. The lights on the paths didn’t penetrate the dark grounds. Beyond the shoreline, surf foamed bright in the moonlight on the black surging water.
    Neal gestured over the parapet. “That stuff was right out there. Maybe five or six feet from the platform. I don’t see how anybody could have held something out there. Besides that, there wasn’t time for anyone to run down the stairs and get away before Aaron and I got to the tower.”
    I turned away from the railing, held up my pocket flash, swept the light up and down the white limestone slabs of the tower.
    Neal understood at once. He moved faster than I did.But when we’d circled, reached the spot where we started, he ran his hand over the unbroken slabs. “Nope. No ladder. Nobody went up. Nobody went down. Where does that leave us?”
    â€œIn the morning, we’ll look thoroughly through the garden—”
    Diana gripped my arm. “That won’t do any good. There wasn’t anyone in the garden. We’d have heard them running away. There wasn’t anyone anywhere.”
    â€œNo one,” Neal said reluctantly, “alive.”
    â€œWe’ll look in the morning,” I said firmly.
    We didn’t talk as we climbed down the curving steps. When we reached the garden, Mrs. Worrell was waiting, holding a padlock in her hand. The others were gone. The manager said nothing to us. She waited until we were outside the tower; then she pulled the big wooden door closed, slipped the padlock through a hasp, clicked it shut.
    The snap of the lock had a permanent sound.
    But as we walked back toward the hotel, Neal bent and whispered in my ear. “Locks can’t stop ghosts.”
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    I splashed water on my face, scrubbed it dry, wishing I could wash away the memory of the night. I was